Glass in the wound
by Magentafurter
Summary: I know i need to write another chapter, hate to leave you in the lurch! I've added the story to my website complete with pictures and background music. www.geocities.com/magentafurter
1. The Lake of Ice

Author's notes: This is my first attempt at a fan fiction, I hope you like it. I chose to do a SOTL and The Cell crossover as I could see a distinct parallel in the plot of both film's. Jennifer Lopez's character physically venture's into the mind of a killer, whilst Clarice get's only a brief insight into the workings of Dr.Lecter's mind .I thought it would be interesting to describe the interior of Dr. Lecter's mind and how Clarice is a major feature within it. Also to see just how twisted my imagination can be ;)The Silence of the Lambs and all the characters involved are copyright Thomas Harris and don't belong to me.  
  
  
  
It was not an unpleasant sensation, almost like floating in a warm bath, slipping into blackness, feeling weightless. She'd heard about sensory depravation tanks and imagined this is what they'd be like. For a few seconds Clarice felt comfortable and relaxed, thinking this wasn't as frightening as she'd thought it would be. Then as soon as her fear had subsided she felt an itch. An annoying itch like ants crawling on her skin and wanted to scratch but couldn't. Then, it got worse. It was as if thousands of tiny insects were crawling on her bare skin, it was maddening not being able to scratch. She tried to move her arms but it was as if she was tied up. She felt a scream well up inside her and the squeaking of the creatures she couldn't see hurt her ears as her voice joined the horrible chorus in a crescendo that made her head feel like it was in a vice.  
  
Then all was quiet. The silence was almost as painful as the noise. She was afraid to move and daren't open her eyes. Very slowly her eyes opened, as slow as a flower opening. She was laid on her side on what felt like plush, thick carpet. She spread her fingers out and buried her face in the comfortable carpet, it felt so good and she didn't want to get up. By now she relished the silence and sat up on her elbows and looked around. She was in what looked like a vast gallery; she stood up and saw that the corridors seemed to run to infinity. It wasn't sterile and plain as some galleries that'd she'd visited were, it was warmly lit and had an old world ambience. Thousands of painting lined the walls; one in particular looked familiar and caught her attention. It showed a street scene in Florence in perhaps the Middle Ages, the Ponte Vecchio in the background, a man leaning against the wall next to the river his gaze directed at a young woman walking a pace or two behind two other women. Clarice recognizes this painting as being by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, showing the great poet Dante Alighieri exchanging a glance with his great love Beatrice Portineri. As she looked at the painting to her amazement it came alive, the wind blowing the figures clothes as the women walked towards Clarice laughing and chatting girlishly, yet the beautiful woman in the rear remained silent. Time seemed to slow as the man and the silent woman crossed path's, the woman turned and briefly looked into the man's eyes. Clarice felt as is she'd been struck by lighting as their face's changed and she realized the woman was she and the man was Dr. Lecter. She looked away in shock and when she looked back it was simply a painting again. As she walked down the halls each of the paintings came to life and the faces of the subjects turned into images of her, hundreds of the greatest pieces of art known to man became portraits of her! She began to feel trapped in the endless hallways and ran frantically trying to find a way out but each corridor came to a dead end. Then as she turned she saw a dark figure running down one of the corridors, she couldn't see his face but knew it was Dr. Lecter. He opened what appeared to be secret door, camouflaged to look just like the walls and she followed him barely keeping him in her sights.  
  
  
  
She ran, going through door after door each different to the last. Finally she came to a smooth, stainless steel door and as she opened it a cold wind blew threw, so cold it took her breath away. She found herself at the edge of a vast lake of ice with seemingly no end, as she looked in awe at its enormity she saw the figure open a door where the pale sky met the ice and disappear through it. She knew the dangers of trying to cross ice of questionable thickness but decided that he obviously wanted her to follow him so she gingerly stepped onto the ice. Walking cautiously and listening for the tell tale sound of cracking she walked to were she'd seen Dr.Lecter disappear. As her confidence increased she walked faster eager to reach the invisible door and discover what lay behind it. Yet as she reached the middle of the lake she heard a faint cracking sound and she held her breath and froze. As cracks began to appear in the ice, her heart skipped a beat and she could see her breath coming out in quick puffs. Clarice helplessly watched in horror as the cracks grew larger and to her surprise the cracks began to resemble letters and then words. She watched as a message appeared reading "Oh, ill-starred folk beyond all others wretched" and as the last word appeared I became very quiet and then without warning the ice opened up and swallowed Clarice Starling into the icy water. 


	2. Il hell del ghiaccio

Chapter 2  
  
Il hell del ghiaccio  
  
For the first time in her life Clarice Starling's sharp mind failed her, it seemed her brain had become a tubula rasa, the blank slate of a newborn. With the breath knocked out of her and her body stinging as freezing needles stabbed her all over like arctic acupuncture, the pain overshadowed any rational thought or sense. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, she felt strangely calm, serene almost and she wondered if she was in shock, or worse, dead. As she hung suspended in the sub zero water one of her senses slowly returned to her. A scraping, groaning sound broke the throbbing silence. A surprisingly pleasant image came to her. Fishing with her father, the sound of the boat's prow bumping against the tires hanging from the jetty. Fishing. Water. Ice. She was under the ice! In a rush of adrenalin or panic, or both, she propelled herself to the surface only to bump against a thick ceiling of ice, she felt around frantically for the hole in which she fell through but it seemed it had mysteriously disappeared! As her hands beat against the thick ice ceiling, the terror, which coursed through her veins, caused her limbs to ache and the core of her brain to burn as her heart slowed. Her hands and feet had started to develop a tingly numbness; it spread over her face as the cold rushed into her ears and nose. A horrible suffocating feeling was building up in her lungs as they filled with carbon dioxide and she attempted to ignore the dire need for air. As she continued to scrape her numb fingers over the infuriatingly smooth ice a terrible grip seized her right ankle and jerked her down into the dark water below.  
  
Considering the lack of feeling in her legs it took a few seconds for Clarice to register as she turned her head to see what it was that was pulling her down into the murky depths. Her eyes widened in horror as she looked down into the grey, dead face of Dr. Frederick Chilton. She tried to kick with her other leg but was too weak from the cold. As she struggled against his, vice like grip she looked about and saw other familiar faces. The flutist Benjamin Raspail, clad in a colourless tuxedo, the Memphis guards Boyle and Pembry, she recognized the face of the Italian Inspector, Rinaldo Pazzi from a case file. She even saw Mason Vergers face, or what resembled a face, its toothsome aquatic appearance seemed quite fitting for the surroundings. This was Dr. Lecters own personal hell in which he stored away those who he thought deserved condemnation, those who like Judas must stand frozen through all eternity twisting and writhing in the lowest and most terrible level of hell. It was then that Clarice thought back to the days when she sat stiffly in church while the Lutheran preacher ranted emphatically about the threat of hellfire to the bored congregation as sweat flew from his face and hit the unlucky parishioner's in the front pews. Hell was not a furnace of flames, but a lake of ice. 


End file.
